Lost
by Farfalle Rossa
Summary: Stuck in his parents' house, Sirius Black remembers and reflects. Oneshot.


_One-shot. The first time I've written second person. And no, don't own any of this._

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You laugh and you smile and you pretend to be filled with joy about mundane and pointless things when really you just want to escape from this house where all you can think about is your life and what you did wrong.

But even though you hate being here, you don't want to spread that misery on to those that you love. You support your godson through all of his troubles, offering your advice and not listening to the little voice in your head that tells you that you only want to live vicariously through him.

You pretend to your best friend that you really don't mind Grimmauld Place as much as you say you do, and you pretend not to see the disbelief and the pity and the sadness and the loss in his eyes as he looks at you, because you are the shadow of his best friend. Because that's all you are, a shadow of the glamorous, lively boy that he knew and was friends with. He's friends with the more lifeless person as well, but the friendship isn't the same. Time and distrust can do that.

You watch the members of the Order come in and out of your house, because it really is your house, even if you don't think of it that way. You smile bitterly when you think of how much your family would have hated them being here and how you seem to be rebelling against them even though they're dead.

Sometimes your mother's portrait will lecture you, screaming and raging. You yell back at her, as you only did twice in your life to her person, because she was an imposing figure that scared you. You hate being told everything that is wrong about you by her, because then you think of James's mother and how supportive and loving she was and you curse her for not being like that. And then she will proclaim that she is a Black, and that Black mothers don't act like Mudbloods which is what she says Mrs. Potter acts like. And you don't have any answer to that, because nothing you say will sink in, just as it never did in life, so you turn away and let her think that she's won. But she hasn't, because you begin to relive your life again, because when you don't have any company there isn't anything else to do but think.

It's hard, reliving everything. You begin to remember your childhood years, memories that Azkaban had taken away. You remember playing with Reg, visiting Bella and Andy and Cissy, who seemed like siblings, really, and you remember loving and caring for them. You remember James, and you remember how you and your family started to drift apart (well, you always remembered that – Azkaban left you with those memories of tearing apart from your family, but they're more vivid now).

You remember the summer where Bella was yelled at by her mother for hexing you (particularly violently) for some reason, and her unapologetic grin that matched yours exactly. You remember how it really was your fault after all, that you had taunted her, and you smile sadly, because you knew – and still know – that Bella won't ever take an insult, that she will retaliate. You remember Reg's first year of Hogwarts, how badly you hoped he would get into Gryffindor because you wanted him to be in the same house as you, and your disappointment when he was sorted into Slytherin along with the rest of the family, leaving you more of an outcast than ever. You remember Andy's eyes light up as she talked about Ted to you in this house. You remember how Cissy had complained about how her mother always treated her like she was three years old.

And you gravitate towards the family tree so often after you and Harry discovered it. You run your fingers over the burn mark where your name once was, and you wonder several times whether you're sad or happy about the fact that according to the family tree, you aren't a Black. You just aren't sure anymore. Azkaban has taken away your complete and utter confidence that what you're doing is right.

There are highs and lows. You've always had mood swings, but these are more severe than they've ever been before. When Harry and Remus are here, you're in high spirits (or as high as someone who has been in Azkaban for much of his life can feel), but when you're alone with Kreacher, you have terrible spirits, the worst that you've ever felt, because that's when you remember your lost years most.

You think back on your glorious youth, where you were the heartthrob of Hogwarts. You remember how happy you were then, and you wonder how you could have felt so hopeful, and then you wish that you could have some of that hopefulness now, because this is when you really need it.

You're in so many pensive moods lately, it's like you aren't yourself, because you still think of yourself as the optimistic and energetic man that you were before Azkaban took that away from you, and you want to have those years back.

Kreacher always mutters things, but although you try not to care, the words get to you, piercing your thick skin (or perhaps Azkaban made it thinner, you can't tell). You hear him say that you broke your mother's heart and you know that isn't true, because your mother never really cared about you, only the Black family name, but you sometimes wonder if you broke your brother's heart when you left.

Kreacher mentions Regulus sometimes, and he obviously can see how you tense up when he's mentioned. He'll say something about Regulus being a proper heir, a proper Black, and you'll glare at him. It isn't the statement that Regulus was a proper Black that irritates you, it's the fact that he's mentioning Regulus at all. He knew how close you two were, and you think that he's trying his best to hurt you. The one time he said that Regulus always hated you, you threw something at him, and he cackled, and then you ordered him never to say anything like that again. He followed that order, of course, but the words still hurt, and you can see them in his eyes when he stares at you.

There are so many days when you're alone. You stare out the grimy window, and wonder what twist of fate landed you back here, the house that you thought you would never see again. You don't cry, because Blacks never cry, and you are still a Black, but you can't stop sorrow.

You know that they talk about you. Remus will defend you, of course, but Molly will whisper to her husband that you're a bad influence on Harry, and it takes all of your restraint (not that you have that much) to stop yourself from hexing her. Harry reminds you of James, and that statement reminds you of the ones your mother used to say, when she told your father that James was a bad influence on you, and he thinks bitterly how the tables have been turned.

Your life used to be so full of life and light, and now it isn't, and you realize that you don't have all that much to live for anymore.


End file.
